


The Wanting Time

by JaqofSpades



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five days of torture, before her blood time.  Scent so thick with musk that it made his judgment suspect, and his hands untrustworthy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scent

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to push myself to subvert the squick and write Underage Marie that was reasonably credible in the Movieverse scenario. I'm still not convinced I succeeded there, but I like this one as a five-chapter immersion in the senses. This fic dates to Jan 2011, and is also archived at the Wolverine and Rogue Fiction Archive (WRFA).

**1\. Scent**

He could smell her. Even through shallow breaths, dragged quickly through his mouth and swallowed in desperation. He wallowed in it a moment, knowing that soon he would need to resort to total avoidance. She was 17 and innocent, and he was ancient, rutting beast slavering over her scent. His very own calendar, the moon to his tide.

She numbered his days. The sweet, heavy bite of old blood and new beginnings, five days. Then the build to endless possibility, slick and open and ripe. Ten days, eleven, sometimes twelve. She would tease and prod, then, gentle and winning. She would purr in combat lessons and chatter gaily through breakfast, pouting when he pretended not to listen. Her southern minx persona on high beam, endless vowels and fluttering pet names, as different as day is night from the moody sarcasm that would soon follow.

In between was the wanting time.

He had no idea what it was, or what purpose it served. Other women sailed from ovulation down a gentle slope to the sharp drop before the blood came. But not Marie. Five days of torture, before her blood time. Scent so thick with musk that it made his judgment suspect, and his hands untrustworthy. He took to avoiding her – missions; the gym; flimsy, transparent excuses – leaving her with another cross to bear. Confused, alone, an untutored, untouchable girl writhing on the altar of her hormones.

It was her need, her pain, that broke him.

*

“Marie?”

“Go away, Logan. I’m busy.” She sounded pissed, and he was fucking insane to be here, now.

“You ain’t busy, kid.” Grumpy, tetchy, tired old man tone. Her daddy, even her grandpa, he reminded himself.

“Well, let’s just say it’s my turn to avoid you and be done with it,” she said, not even bothering to hide the hurt. He pushed his forehead into the wood of her door and told himself not to go in. Make her come out.

Why the fuck his hand insisted on pushing open the door, he had no idea.

“We need to talk, Marie.”

He kept the door wide open, and plonked himself in the armchair that marked the furthest point from her bed. She hadn’t even raised her face from the coverlet to acknowledge his presence, but the tang of salt in the air told him she had been crying. A lot.

“Logan, you don’t need to pretend you care, you know. The whole making yourself invisible thing … it’s pretty obvious.” Had to give her points for that one, really. Tackling the problem head on … she was brave, his Marie.

He owed her an explanation. But how the fuck did you say “well, kid, I want to lick you stem to stern right now, so I need to stay away?”

Badly, of course. If you were the Wolverine, you just spat it out and hoped for the best. And because this was Marie, you didn’t spare any of the damn details, because she needed to know it all, every little detail from start to finish.

Where the fuck did this start?

“Marie. You know how I smell things?” Rhetorical, of course, because she had been inside his head and even shared his senses for brief periods of time. And the way she stiffened and tried to crawl even further into her pillow told him, oh yes, she knew.

“Each month, round about now, I have to stay away from you a while. Because of the way you smell.” Let that be enough, he prayed. Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ….

“Why?”

He coughed. Reddened, he knew. Braced himself.

“You smell … good, Marie. Fertile.” Not exactly the truth, but how could you tell an untutored teenager that she smelt of sex and wanting and unbelievable, mindless pleasure? And that you could smell her slickness and want from halfway across the mansion and hear the noises she made from six rooms away and that he wanted to fuck her and fuck her and fuck her so that they could both find that satisfaction she craved?

He forced himself to look up and at her, and was alarmed to see she was sitting up now, facing him. And that slightly puzzled look told him she hadn’t quite gotten it yet. Not what he really meant. That fuckin' innocence. Torturing them both.

“It gets me hot, Marie. Hot and stupid.” Really, really stupid, he told himself, like coming into the girl’s room to tell her how frickin’ horny she smelt, when you know she’s hurtin’ bad for the lack of being able to do anything about it. Tellin’ her it was makin’ him horny too. Genius.

Marie seemed to think so too. Except she wasn’t wasting any time on introspection. She’d risen to her knees on the bed, and her face was a study in pissed off female.

“Well, sugar, I’m sorry that I’m making you stupid! But you know, I am female, and any female will do for the Wolverine, won’t it? I’m sorry my skin won’t let you touch me, so you can get rid this inconvenient bit of lust! I’m sorry I can’t be just like all those other girls so you can fuck me outta your system and get on with leavin!”

“Jesus, Marie, that ain’t what I was talking about! You don’t see me fucking with any of those other little girls, do you? It would be the wrong thing to do, because you’re just babies. Seventeen fucking years old. I ain’t even allowed to think some of these fucking thoughts, kid.” He broke off, figuring she didn’t need to know any more about those thoughts. Nasty, perverted, delicious thoughts. Even if she did deserve to know that she was the type of girl men adored.

He fuckin’ hated that. Hated that Marie thought she was locked inside that perfect body, a prisoner of her gorgeous, creamy skin. Hated that no little prick was brave enough to get through the challenges, give the girl what she wanted. She was ready for a lover, cryin’ out for one, and the one man who desperate for her, stupid for her, shouldn’t even be thinkin’ about touching her.

Well, fuck that. He still owned his mind, surely deserved some privacy there, even if Wheels had a mortgage on every other damn part of him. And the girl on the bed had gulped and swallowed when he said that, and her scent was rising. Again. Time to leave.

“What thoughts, Logan? What do you think about me?” Well, ain’t that the 24 million dollar question. The one he had avoided for so long, avoided even the slightest accidental touch because she sure as hell didn’t need the answers to that.

“Thoughts I’ve got no business having, Marie,” he growled. Stood up to leave.

“Like – where you would touch me? How?” And fuck, her hands should NOT be moving over her body like that. Like a painter looking for a muse. Like he might stay, and show her.

Six steps to the door.

He was still willing his limbs to move when she jumped from the bed and crossed the floor in one fluid motion. Closed the door. Locked it.

“Tell me.” He could pretend he hadn’t heard, but she would have known it was a lie. He could say no, and ignore all that want. That need.

Or he could stay.


	2. Hearing

2\. Hearing

The smooth click of the lock resounded through her head like a gunshot. Marie stood at the door, hand still on the latch, shaking a little as she contemplated her own daring. She may as well have used a loudspeaker, or hired a marching band. “MARIE D’ANCANTO. NOW DEPARTING NORMAL.”

Something had been itching her inside lately, making her rash and impulsive, but this? This was turning her back on the sweet little life she had built, and stepping out into the great fucking unknown. Goodbye, sweet Rogue; hello again, fucked up Marie.

Seven months, she had lasted. Seven months of tremulous smiles and “yes, sir’s” and that shy little giggle that she had come to hate. Seven months of “oh, Logan, he’s like my brother, or maybe my favourite uncle.” So fucking convincing, that Rogue – even Marie had begun to believe her.

And now, what had she done? Gone and called him on it, that’s what. It was a sly game of evasion they played: I’ll pretend you don’t want me if you’ll pretend I’m just a little girl. We’ll both pretend to be safe, and normal, and tame enough to be good little X-men. Their own devil’s bargain, torturing them a little more each day.

“I can’t do it anymore,” she moaned. “It hurts too much.”

His grunt of concern startled her back to the moment. The locked door. The man in the corner of her room, struggling to do the right thing. Marie forced herself to breathe, hanging over an abyss. Cut him free of his honour, or truss him tight with lies?

But how could you keep the truth from a man who swore lies left a stink in the air? A man who knew when you were bleeding, and could smell you wanting? Tell you were beyond that, caught so deep in your desperation for touch, and him, and his touch, that you spent entire nights writhing in that bed, reaching for a peak that never came. Agony. Her personal brand of sharp, hot, slicing, desperation.

The command came from that place. “Tell me.”

She thought he would ignore her. Pretend he hadn't heard. Growl at her to open the door, and stomp out. A transgression of their carefully maintained boundaries. A sin against the order of things here at the Mansion.

Instead, he sighed, and folded his long body back into the chair with what might have been weary resignation. Marie steeled her nerves to look at him, needing to know whether or not he would hate her for this. He was sinking fast into the shadows as the summer twilight abandoned her room, but she could still make out the line of his lip, and the furrows on his forehead. His eyes, though, were warm and forgiving. And something in them spoke of relief, and release.

She was surprised, for a moment, and then she remembered. She had become used to the other man. The one they called Wolverine. But just like the Rogue, he was a chimera built by a million false assumptions and ill-considered expectations.

Tonight, she was with Logan.

*

“What do want to hear? I’ve got some pretty damn detailed fantasies, Marie. Or do you want to hear just how I would touch you? Oh, darlin’, I’ve been there a million times.” His voice was rough with want, she realized. She hadn’t been the only one crucified by this charade.

His voice held a cynical edge she hadn’t heard since that first day in the camper. After Liberty Island, he had spoken to her the way you would a scared kitten; after Alcatraz, she’d been upgraded to amusing protégé.

Now, he was treating her like any other woman. Cold. Unemotional. It made her brave.

“Either, sugar. Both. But let’s start with the here and now.” She crossed back to the bed, no longer shaking, and stretched out full length on her back. Their eyes clashed briefly in the shadow of the room before he raised a brow and conspicuously examined all she had put on display: breasts, waist, an endless length of legs. The room heated as the showy leer softened into honest appreciation. Wolverine rarely allowed himself the time to look at her, Marie realized, just as Rogue was careful not to try and entice him. “Where would you touch me, Logan?”

She felt his gaze return to her face, as if his fingers were ghosting there. This time, his tone was warmer, soothing her frazzled nerves.

“I’d start there, right beside your mouth. That spot. I want to taste it.” His finger was touching his cheek, smoothing the place where she knew her dimple hid. Her own hand rose to echo the gesture, and the dimple peeked into life with her pleasure. Logan smiled with pure delight, until his brows swooped together and sensuality took over once again.

“Then the corner of your mouth. Your lips always look so fucking good Marie. Like they’d taste like some of those red berries from the forest. Sweet and juicy and just fucking edible. I’d be there a while, just sucking and licking and tasting that mouth of yours.”

He paused to drag in a breath. She felt the need to say something, but his words had made it impossible to think. Saw him scent the air through flared nostrils and realized nothing she had to say mattered, right now. Her body was telling tales of its own.

“I love the spot under a woman’s chin, and any other girl I might try and warm ‘em up with a nibble on the earlobe or something. But you, Marie,” his voice thickened, ground to a halt. He shifted in his chair, and hid his face in the shadows.

“With you, I’d be too fired up to bother, the first time. I reckon, two and a half seconds after kissing you for the first time, I’d have my hands on your titties, and one of your nipples in my fucking mouth.” He was disgusted with himself, yes, but she could hear something else as well. Excitement.

There was no decision to push him, purely an irresistible reaction. Her hands, drifting from her mouth, to her nipples. A gentle brush that could have been accidental. A second flick, with her thumbs. Most definitely not.

She heard his breath catch, this time.

“Little red nipples, I think you’d have. Dark red. Bet they’d taste good too. Love to feel em soft and flick em with my tongue til they ain’t soft no more.” He sat forward in the chair, eyes riveted to her thumbs as they flicked, backwards and forwards, backwards, forwards. “O yeah, baby, just like that. Standing up like stones for me. And when they’re so hard you’re friggin hurtin’ with it, few little nips with my teeth. Then I’d suck so hard you’d feel it right down inside. A woman like you, nipples are just like your clit. Better, for some. Bet you could come, just from me sucking and flicking and fucking your tits with my tongue.” His voice was fierce. Exultant.

It wasn’t a bet she’d take, Marie thought dazedly. They ached now, and her t-shirt and bra felt like a straitjacket, nipples drilling through as if desperate to find their way to Logan. She knew how they felt. Just the timbre of his voice had her skin aflame, and the thought of him touching her … the thought of him wanting to touch her … she was close. “So fucking close …”

His gravelly laugh reverberated through her, making her realize she had spoken aloud. Making her realize, too, that she had unlocked Pandora’s box, and they were hurtling towards the point where it would become impossible to lock themselves away again. She hesitated a moment, wondering if it was worth it. Then she looked at him, eyes glowing as he strained forward in the chair on the other side of the room. Unrepentantly hungry, his chest swelling as he dragged in breath after breath of sex-laden scent.

She launched herself into the abyss. “Make me come, sugar. Tell me how.”


	3. Taste

3\. Taste

Her arousal hung so heavy in the air, he could taste it. His mouth was open as he breathed her in, and the molecules landed sweet on his tongue, enfolding him in Marie scent. Five steps away - he wanted nothing so desperately as to cover that ground, and kneel by her bed.

Except, perhaps, to do as she said. To obey her command.

“Make me come, sugar. Tell me how.”

He had been hard from the moment they started this … whatever it was. No game, that’s for sure. Sex with Marie was deadly fucking serious. And if he was going to do this, talk her up and over, and drench himself in the smell and the taste of her, he was pretty damn sure he would come too. Sex, in his book.

Was he ready to do that? Have sex with Marie, even if he didn’t lay a hand on her?

Logan kept his gaze focused inward, refusing to let himself be railroaded by her need, or worse, his need for her. For once in his godforsaken life, he was going to think something through. Without being led by his cock, or a beseeching pair of brown eyes. Pretty tits too, an unhelpful inner voice added. He told himself to shut the fuck up - he needed to think.

She was young. Too young, everyone would say, and judges in most every state of the Union would agree. But he’d never paid lipservice to anyone’s rules, and just because something was against the law, didn’t make it wrong. Was this wrong?

Cyke and Ororo would think so. Jeannie, too, but maybe not for the right reasons. Xavier? He didn’t know. Xavier treated Marie differently to all the other kids. He’d once said life experience couldn’t be erased, even if it wasn’t your life, and that’s when Logan began to suspect Marie was more of a fully realised adult than he was. Could that be allowed to count?

He opened his eyes, then, and looked at her. Head tossed back on the bed, hands still working over her sides, down her waist, fingers tracing her belly button, then returning up to her nipples. Pressing at that thin little shirt, harder by the moment. Little moans as she waited for him. Flick, flick. Pinch. Her hips rose off the bed and her anguished moan made Logan shudder. She had taken charge, refusing to be passive as she waited for him to decide.

She looked almost belligerent as she stared at him for a moment, chocolate eyes huge with arousal. Behind the drive to fuck, however, was something else: a warmth he had never seen in a woman’s eyes. A commitment, even. He wasn’t just a body, to her. He was a man – her man. And if he wasn’t ready for her, she would wait.

And writhe. And suffer. Needlessly, he decided. Not for another fucking second.

“Take it off.” His own voice shocked him with how desperate he sounded, but he needed to see her. Bare. Needed to watch every inch of her body flush and shake.

Her eyes flew open, straight to his. She wasn’t frightened, exactly, but he could smell her hesitation. Naked was a big deal. The biggest, for her. And no clothes meant no get-out-of-jail-free card. No question of sliding this under the carpet as a flirtation that got out of hand, or some sort of twisted Sex Ed lesson. He smiled to reassure her that he knew the stakes, and had chosen this. Chosen her.

“I won’t lay a hand on you. But if I’m gonna be smelling you come and tasting you in the air, darlin’, I want to watch. Every fucking gorgeous part of you.”

Just in case his meaning wasn’t clear, Logan levered himself out of the chair and manoeuvred its heavy bulk to face the end of her bed. Her eyes had fluttered open to watch him, their chocolate depths now signaling a mix of desire and frank curiosity. He felt a predatory grin stretch across his face as he slid back into the chair without ever losing eye contact – and with one booted foot, pushed her legs wide.

“Take your clothes off, Marie.” He hadn’t meant to growl, but a gush of scent had given him the urge to yank her jeans clear off her body. Better she do it herself, or his promise not to touch would vanish quicker than her panties.

She seemed to be feeling cooperative. Her t-shirt was gone, and before he could even think “thank you God,” she was wriggling her way out of the tight, tight jeans. Something had told her he was way past a striptease, right now, and she was unhooking her bra quicker than he could admire the sight of magnificent tits pushed high and proud by dark red satin.

Then, her nipples put dark red satin to shame, so it was all good. It was so freaking good he needed to sit back in that chair, and fight the urge to dig his claws deep into the antique wood. Control. He needed some. Not over her – never her – but his will had frayed thin over the months of exertion, and now … where was his fucking self control?

“What about you?” she asked, and the claws came out anyway, slicing him free of the last of his inhibitions.

It was a demand, and one he had no intention of refusing. He sheathed the blades, then held her eyes as he slowly unbuttoned his jeans, releasing his cock. Marie sat up a little, eyes riveted, as he pulled out its full length, sliding his hand up and down a time or two more than necessary. Her tongue came up to caress her pout, and he couldn’t decide whether it was that tempting pink tongue, or her fascinated admiration, that drew the first drops of precome from him.

She gasped, and he growled. “Did you really think I could watch you playin; with your titties and not be feelin’ this, darling? If you want to stop this, say so now, because I might still be able to walk away.”

“You move an inch and I might have to kill you, sugar. I was surprised, that’s all.” She bit her lip, and he knew there was something she wasn’t quite brave enough to say. What the fuck could be out of bounds now? He saw her take a deep breath and push her chin up, and knew. Absolutely nothing.

“Logan .. what .. how … I want to know,” she broke off, blushing. Tried again. “How does it taste?”

He felt his eyebrow hitch high, and resisted the urge to howl. Ran his fingers over the tip of his cock, collecting the stickiness there before bringing it to his mouth. “Salty. Tangy. Sticky, but not stringy, not like …” he wondered if that was enough detail. She jumped in and completed his sentence. “Not like when you come properly … that’s different, right?”

Oh yeah, darlin’. Real different. Gallons of fuckin’ different. He could feel his balls drawing up already, and knew that even without being allowed the sanctuary of her body, his orgasm would be mind-blowing.

Right now, though, he just wanted to get on with blowing her mind.

“Why are we talking, Marie? When we could be … talking?” She seemed put out by the reprimand, but when he hunkered back down in the chair, and spread his legs wide so she could see his hand give a few hard pumps, focus returned. He thought.

“Logan – take off your shirt. And wifebeater.” He tried not to smirk as he yanked them overhead, and threw them on the end of her bed. “Anything else, maam?”

“No. Leave your jeans on, open like that. But … pull out your belt and give that to me.” His eyebrows nearly shot off his face at that, but he complied anyway. Sat back as she organized pillows behind her head so she could sit opposite him, and watch. As he would watch her. His mouth went dry at the thought, and words deserted him. But not for long.

*

“Jesus, Marie, you look fucking edible sitting up there like that. I had no idea your tits were so big. I want to weigh them – one in each hand. I’d lift them up and tickle you underneath and my thumbs …” she knew what they would do, because her own long fingers were tickling the underside of her breasts, while her thumbs flicked her now well abused nipples. They must be sore, he thought, but she didn’t seem to care. Once again, her own fingers were making her hips jerk, and she hadn’t touched herself below the waist yet. Soon, he promised himself, he’d move on …

“Oh, that’s it baby, flick them hard. Pinch them. I can smell how much you love that, oh God it’s killing me.” He pumped himself, hard, and felt his own arousal switch up a gear. His tongue had to be hanging out, tasting the air, but he didn’t care. Just more of this. More.

“I’d bite you now, Marie, hard. It might even send you over, but we’re not done. Fuck, we’ve got a long way to go yet. I’d stick my tongue in your belly button and swirl it around and use my fingers up and down your side, finding all those places you don’t even know about yet. Oh, and then, I’d be sliding down, baby. Right down to taste you. Fuck, I need to taste you.”

He told himself the air was good enough, for now. Was this what ambrosia tasted like, if you were a God? Thick and rich, and hot and sweet, and everything good. Nothing this good. Except, except … his brain insisted on torturing him with how much better she would taste, inside. His tongue inside her.

“You’d taste like maple syrup, I think. Sweet and sticky and so friggin’ good you can’t ever get enough. I’d stick my tongue so deep inside you I’d feel your walls around me and I would suck and suck, and slurp and make you drip with it. I wouldn’t even touch your clit, at first, ‘cause I don’t want you to come too fast, darlin’. I want you to be fuckin’ aching for me. Aching.”

She thrashed her head back against the headboard and moaned, her own fingers working inside her. Growled at him.

“I AM aching, goddamn you, Logan! Please …” she writhed on the bed, lost. He almost felt bad about teasing her, but he wanted to hear it again.

“What, Marie? Please, what?”

“Make me come! You promised!” she yelled.

He laughed. “Oh, darlin’, you will come. You won’t believe that comin’ could be this fuckin’ good, you’ll come so hard.” And he could feel it building, already, and while he could make himself wait, he didn’t want to. They’d both been waiting long enough.

“When I’d drunk my fill of you, licked you clean inside and out, I’d have to start with your clit to get you wet all over again. When I’m eating you out, I’d pull you right up to me and my fingers would be ticklin’ your sides and pinchin’ you a bit and holding you wide open for me, but when I’m playin with your clit, I need my hands back. My tongue would be flicking it back and forth, and my lips giving it little tugs and if you could take it, I’d be using my teeth, too, but my hands … I’d have three fingers inside of you, so you could feel me inside and out.”

“I’d be stabbin you with them, baby. Inside you, ticklin’ those walls and findin’ that spot that’s gonna make you scream, kid. Scream the fuckin’ house down.”

Logan heaved in a huge breath at the thought of it, and was hit anew with her scent. He had been so caught up in what he would do to her, he had forgotten, for a moment, to watch her. He lifted his attention to her face, fierce with the approaching onslaught, and then slid his gaze to her downwards – her sweat-slicked breasts, a delicious bellybutton, and the glorious triangle below. He’d promised he wouldn’t touch, but he craned forward in his chair to see better. The view was tremendous; pink, and glistening and oh-so-fucking tempting … he bent his head a little further, and blew. A benediction, hot and moist, on her over-sensitised clit.

She screamed. The scent of Marie, orgasmic, enfolded him, just as he saw the moisture gush from her sex. He heard his name – again, and again, and again. He forced his eyes to stay open, drinking her in, even as he began buck in the chair, his overloaded senses throwing him headfirst into orgasm.


	4. Sight

4\. Sight

World War I? Kitty stared at the screen in front of her, but it remained unhelpfully blank. She knew when it started – 1914 – and the full roster of Allied and Central powers, but … a term paper that did not make.

She needed help. She needed Rogue, who had actual memories of the assault on Vimy Ridge. Kitty glanced at the clock – 10.15pm, but she could hear Rogue singing along to something through the wall, so she was still awake. Kitty grabbed a notebook and phased into the room next door.

“Ro …” Kitty’s vocal cords seized up with the shock, and her body faded back into the plaster in a completely instinctive retreat.

Rogue, naked. Arching and panting and touching herself … but, but - it couldn’t have been. She must have been hallucinating, Kitty told herself. Wolverine wouldn’t do that, didn’t think of them like that. There was no way she could have seen … she nudged her face forward, just a little, until the layer of plaster was so thin it was translucent.

Just in time to see Wolverine lower his face between Rogue’s legs, and do something that made Rogue scream. Watch him collapse back into the chair and – oh my GOD, was that his … Kitty flung herself backwards through the wall to the safety of her own room.

She sat on her bed, shaking. Was she delusional? Wolverine was their teacher, for heavens sake. He wasn’t that type of man. He was noble, and brave, and growled at Jubilee when she tried to flirt with him and while everyone laughed about his women, no one had ever actually SEEN him bring a woman home, so he …

And Rogue never even flirted with him, she just watched him and he watched her and sometimes the look in his eye …

After all, they had arrived at the school together, and she was so young – even younger than me! – and even though at first everyone had assumed …

Kitty stopped battering herself with the scary logic and sunk onto her bed, head in hands. She’d seen what she’d seen. Now she had to figure out what to do about it.

*

Marie could still feel the aftershocks rippling across her skin when she opened her eyes to a feast. Logan, slumped bonelessly in the chair at the end of her bed, hair sticking up in every direction, and sweat glistening across the hills and valleys of his muscled torso.

Jeans still open, cock still in hand. She blushed. It was one thing to bring yourself to orgasm as a man watched, but to look at him, and see the evidence of his own release … OK, she was being silly. It was far more embarrassing to wonder if you’d put the entire school on alert with your scream. But they weren’t here yet, and Logan was, looking like six kinds of sin she just dying to commit. And if she had helped put that utterly satisfied, replete look on his beautiful face, so be it.

Marie wanted nothing more to curl up in his lap and go to sleep, but she wasn’t sure if that was allowed. They hadn’t discussed rules, or what would happen afterwards. Did they need to? Probably, she realized with a sinking feeling. This was a school, and she was a student, and he was a teacher. There were rules even for breaking the rules. They needed to figure out what to do. Plus, she wanted to snuggle.

“Sugar?” She wasn’t sure what question she was actually asking, but figured they had to start somewhere. He lifted his head – she blushed scarlet when she realized where his gaze had been fixed – and surprised her with a slow, gentle smile.

“Sorry, darlin’. But fuck if that isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. He sounded happy and relaxed and his voice had an honest sexuality to it she had never heard before. She had done this – the untouchable girl!

Her embarrassment evaporated. “View’s pretty good from here, too, sugar. But I’m getting kind of lonely up here.” She pulled the sheet from the bottom of her bed to cover herself, and moved towards to wall. “Think we’ll fit?”

He rose to toe off his boots and strip off his jeans. “Oh, we’ll fit, sugar. We’ll fit.” She was still smiling at the double entendre as he enfolded her in his arms, tucked her head under his chin and whispered tiny kisses on her eyelids, sharing his overwhelming need to sleep, as well as deeper emotions that wrapped her in a blanket of calm.

Tomorrow, they would deal. Together, the latest incarnation of Logan-in-her-head promised.

She slept.

*

Jubilee bounced on the balls of her feet and got ready to hurl Iceman over her shoulder. She hated early mornings, but she loved combat, so she’d forgiven the Wolvester for inflicting a 7am class on them. She loved the precision of the moves, and the feel of her muscles doing as they were told, but most of all, she loved the sheer ludicrousness of being able to fling a tall, strong boy over her skinny little shoulder. She was working her way up to Colossus, but right now … whupping Bobby’s cute ass gave her a happy.

She felt the rush of him and grabbed his wrist as she twisted her body and found the pivot point, and – whump! – he hit the mat in front of her. Victory salute – oh fucking yeah. Her hands were still in the air when she realized her best bud, Roguey, was paying absolutely NO attention.

Roguey had just flipped the Wolverine, and was bending over their combat teacher, smiling. No victory dance there, though, just her bending over and looking straight into his eyes. And him, into hers. They were having some sort of moment, Jubilee shrugged. They did that sometimes.

Then his eyes dropped from Rogue’s, and travelled down her throat, and landed in the neck of her leotard, where – it had to be said – Roguey was scarily bare. He didn’t look scared, though … and oh my God! Had he just touched her with his bare finger? On her breasts? Jubilee’s mouth dropped open as she watched the Wolverine’s finger dip into the neckline of her friend’s leotard. It was so quick, she wondered if she’d imagined it … until she watched him put the finger in his mouth. Sucking it. Holy shit. That was not a moment. That was foreplay!

Wolverine heaved himself from the floor, then, and if he was shaky on his feet, only Jubilee seemed to know why. Kitty had her back to them as she attempted to flip Colossus, and Bobby was on the ground behind her, winded by his rapid acquaintance with the ground.

“Jesus, Jubes. You’re not really meant to try and kill me,” Bobby groaned, forcing her attention away from Rogue and the Wolverine. Kill him. Huh. Well didn’t THAT take the imagination to interesting places, she realized, seeing Wolverine’s dislike of Rogue’s ex-boyfriend in a new light.

“Oh, I don’t need to kill you, Bobby. We’ve got the Wolverine for that,” she grinned at him, adding under her breath “and now I know why.”

*

Shadowcat had rings under her eyes like a panda, Logan observed. Her balance was off and her pathetic excuse for a throw hadn’t even lifted Colossus off his feet. Now, he knew that 7am Combat wasn’t everybody’s favourite class, but was it too much to ask that they were fuckin’ awake?

“Kitty, you’re wasting everybody’s fucking time. If you need more sleep, go and get it!” Logan snapped at her after she fumbled a hold for the third time. “You’re not sick, are you?” he added as an afterthought. Girl looked like a sick panda, he thought sourly. Not like his girl.

He thought he had glutted his senses on her last night, but he’d been wrong. Her scent no longer tortured him – instead, it wrapped him in the sweet balm of remembered satisfaction. He breathed deep and easy now, enjoying her. But his eyes … they hated having to look at anything other than her. They hated having to look away, and not dwell on the miracle of smooth skin, and toned muscle and the sacrilege that required she actually put clothes on that body.

He’d been gonna pair her with Colossus as per usual, but when it was time to hit the mats, he’d been as surprised as anyone when he decided different. “With me, kid,” he’d said. Not even bothered to make up a reasonable explanation, just backed her into the corner and tackled her to the ground.

She’d sprung up and he’d lectured her about holding her stance and bracing herself on the front foot, and she’d looked up at him through long eyelashes and pouted. Fucking pouted! Now, he was willing to admit that things had changed between them, and that the whole student-teacher thing was on shaky ground, but some things didn’t change. Just because she’d finally found out what it did to him when her top lip puckered like that, and the bottom one just begged to be sucked into his mouth … hell no! This was friggin’ combat class - there was no pouting in combat!

He narrowed his eyes at her and the warning growl just slipped out. Fuck this sexual tension bullshit - not as if that ever went away – but they weren’t here to play. He rushed her and dirtied up the move with a low punch at her abdomen. Marie spun out of the reach of his fist, caught the other arm and used the forward momentum of the punch to neatly flick him over and onto his back. He tried not to beam with pride as he lay there winded, when Marie’s beautiful face came into view. She was bending over him. Bending forward. Tightening her arms at her sides to push her tits up and out of the not-restrictive-enough sports bra and God of Mercy, those rosy red little nipples were standing up to say hello.

Logan raised his eyes to her laughing ones, and stared into them for moment. The laughter vanished, and dark chocolate seemed to catch fire, molten lava in her gaze as soft arousal was replaced with heat, and wanting. Now. Right now, her eyes demanded. He closed his eyes for a moment, and prayed his loose pants would hide what she did to him.

“Come here.” He had spoken before he’d even opened his eyes, let alone had a chance to think.

She bent forward further, their faces just inches apart. Logan ground his teeth at the wave of lust, and looked away from her eyes, telegraphing everything she wanted to do to him. Looked down.

And then he was touching her. One finger, tracing down, down, down into that lovely, dark place where sweat kissed his finger just before the pull began. As buzz turned to bite, he thought of licking her there. Peeling off that leotard and finding every bit of sweat on her body. Turning her over on the mat and fucking her so hard she wouldn’t be able to walk the next day, let alone take 7am combat class.

He saw the moment his fantasy registered. Smelt it. Sipped the air and reveled in its urgent musk. Found his finger in his mouth, and tasted it, the salt of her sweat making dizzying promises of other tastes. And even as the draw robbed his body of movement, he smiled.


	5. Touch

5\. Touch

Marie felt him inside. Unlike the others, Logan-in-her-head had always been a benevolent presence, happy to throw down to win her some peace, or talk her through situations she felt ill-equipped to handle. He was her touchstone. Usually.

Right now, he was … bothersome. Conspiring with her already overheated imagination to drive her insane. Whispering lewd suggestions and replaying Logan’s fantasy on an endless loop. The licking. The sucking. The no-holds-barred, on-your-face, ass-in-the-air fucking. She fancied she could feel the bruises forming on her hips, and blinked with surprise to see the gleam of lycra when she glanced down to check. She felt his amusement ripple across her skin when she discovered she was clothed. Still sitting in Wolverine’s class. Watching him try not to watch her.

His eyes kept swinging to her and then away as he talked them through tomorrow’s Danger Room scenario. Perhaps she shouldn’t have taunted him that last time, uncrossing her legs so slowly that they were both drowning in the smell of her. He had stopped, mid-sentence, eyes dark and fists clenched, and for a moment she swore he was going to yank her forward and straight to him. But he recovered, even if he had looked a little dazed, and gone straight back to talking about … whatever it was he had been saying.

He called it ‘the wanting time’, she mused. Something biological, unique. She rolled her eyes at the thought - yet another thing that marked her out from humanity – then smothered the giggle that followed. At least she wasn’t suffering alone anymore, she thought, as she watched him stalk the room. She pressed her thighs together hard and did a tiny shimmy that released a million sensations to feed her ravenous clit, just a little. Even with that, her breath caught, and she felt her eyes close for a moment of private pleasure.

“That’s it. Class dismissed!”

Marie was the only one not surprised by the barked command. She could taste herself in the air, strong and musky and so close to coming it was torture to them both. His voice trembled and she knew she was testing his control. She would apologise later, but now, she wanted to bask in the heat radiating from him, and roll in the smell of him … need, sharp and urgent. Unbearable.

Her classmates clattered around her as they threw their soaked workout gear into their bags, and fled the room, unable to believe Wolverine had cut the class short.

“Coming, chica?” Jubilee hesitated by the door, flashing a questioning grin as her eyes flicked between Rogue and Wolverine. It was a question, but not a real one, Marie observed idly, still caught in her sensual haze. She answered without even looking at her friends.

“No, I need to talk to Logan about something.”

“Uh huh.” Jubilee laughed as she pushed Kitty out the doorway of the gym, and closed it behind her. Weird. Everyone knew the door to the gym stayed open.

*

“Talk?” He stood over her as she sat on the floor, looking towards the whiteboard covered with tactical diagrams. She was pulsing still, caught in the endless stretch between thoroughly aroused but not quite there, and she couldn’t bear it. Marie collapsed onto her back, and opened her knees wide, inviting him in.

“Oh god, please,” she moaned. The desperation in her own voice shocked her.

“Well, we could talk. Or, I could …” his voice was rough as he dropped to his knees in front of her. She waited for the rest of the sentence, but it never came. Instead, he started to run his fingers over the black seam between her legs, short nails catching on the lycra and oh God, finding all the slippery bumps and crevices underneath.

It was enough. At that moment, it was everything, her dazed mind told her as she erupted in long, wrenching waves of bliss. Her body shook and her newly honed senses were so overwhelmed by the assault, the smell alone sent her over yet again. He pulled her to him, and she shuddered in his arms for endless moments of mindlessness.

When sanity returned, she realized they were tangled together on the floor of the gym, with the never-closed door banged firmly shut, at peak pre-breakfast workout time. She reeked of sex, and was sitting on something huge that suggested exactly what they had been doing.

“Logan? I think we need to go somewhere else.” She wriggled. And it felt so good, she had to do it again. This time in a circle that put him right … there. He leaned back a little, balancing his weight on one arm while he positioned her over him with the other. And thrust, stabbing deep. For a moment, she felt him inside her, before the unforgiving lycra expelled him again.

“Gym floor!” a chorus inside her head reminded her. Marie felt like telling the chorus to fuck off and come back later, but … if he did that again, they wouldn’t be moving from here. If he did that again, she would be losing her virginity on the floor of the gym within the next half minute.

“Logan. We need to move.” She looked back at him, jaw set and eyes serious. “I need you inside me. Properly. Now.”

He grunted, and lifted her to face him, wrapping her legs around his waist. Now, this was a position they should have tried out in combat class, Marie thought. Every inch of him, making love to every inch of her. She locked her heels behind his back and gave his cock a few little nudges to remind him she was there.

“Quit it, Marie. It’s your first time, and I refuse to fuck you up against the wall,” he growled.

“It’s not like that’s even possible, Sugar,” she laughed, stilling her movements all the same. When he cocked a wicked eyebrow, she realized that maybe she should have had a little peep at some of his memories. She went quiet, considering the possibility.

“Quit thinking, Marie. I’m too close to the edge as it is,” he groaned, rubbing his face in her hair as he carried her through the gym, to specialist rooms out back. Spa. Sauna … ah. Massage room. Massage bed, she remembered, as he kicked the door open.

He dumped her unceremoniously back onto the cushioned massage table, and was unzipping his pants when suddenly, he stilled. Crashed a broad palm to his forehead, and slapped himself. “Fuck”. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Marie smiled at his little tantrum, then made a show of fishing inside her bra for the condoms she had once liberated from the medlab. It had been a prank, designed to convince the others that yes, Jean DID keep condoms down there, but right now, she was almost thankful the bitch was so prepared.

“Fuck? Yes please, Logan.”

He bared his teeth at her, ripped one of the packets out of her hand, and had sheathed himself before the smile had faded from her face.

“You sure about this, girl?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Logan! Yes! Just don’t call me ‘kid’ when you are inside me, though. That would be weird.”

He stared at her then, and some of the feral faded from his face. “You are a kid, Marie. I know that. That’s why this has been so hard for us. But – I finally figured out that you are woman in every way that counts, and you were MY woman from the minute you yelled out in that bar. You are mine for as long as you want to be. And I’m facing the fact that I’m probably gonna be yours a lot longer than that.”

She opened her mouth to object, but he shushed her, stepping between her knees to bring them forehead to forehead as she sat on the high massage table.

“So if you don’t want me, say so now. Because I don’t think I can do this, be inside you, and walk away. Not any time soon. And I am one possessive, mean, uncouth son of bitch, so you better be sure you want me around.” The turned down mouth was back, and that sour look that spoke of doubt and self hate. It made her wonder if she should believe him. For a moment.

“Watching you walk away breaks my heart, sugar. Every damn time. I’m not doing this to keep you with me, but if that works, hell of a payoff.” She kissed him, directly on the lips, fast. “I can’t live my life pretending, Logan. Pretending not to know you, pretending not to want you. Pretending I don’t care when other women flirt with you in front of my face. I cannot fucking do that.”

She harnessed her ire and ran gloved fingers down his chest, tracing each indentation with awe. “This body is mine.” She leaned forward, and traced the flat, masculine nipple that stood sentinel over his heart. “This heart is mine.”

Her hand dropped down, past his navel, and further, to slowly travel the length of his latex-clad cock. “And by God. This. Is. All. Mine.” She slid off the table to drop to her knees in front of him, and placed a quick kiss on the end of his cock. Hestitated, and then another, open-mouthed. And then, just to see if she could, she pushed herself forward onto the length of him, and began to suck.

His hips began to nudge towards her face, and his hands dropped to her shoulders, and then moved to her head. She could feel his hands smoothing through her hair, and smiled when the gentle touch grew stronger, and more rhythmic.

“Fuck, baby … so good.” His hips snapped towards her mouth and he let out a tortured groan that made Marie laugh with the power of it. He wrapped his hand around her hair and yanked her from him with a little more force than necessary. Scooped her clean off the ground and deposited her in a rumpled heap on the massage table.

“Thought you wanted me inside you. Lie back.” She shrugged, and did as he commanded. Masterful, meet Logan.

“Open your legs.”

“Yes, master.” Ooh. The eyebrow. Oh. Oh. The claws. She felt herself turn liquid, and blushed at the surprise on his face as he registered the fact. Blushed even further when surprise turned to a predatory grin. He retracted the set and then slid them out again slowly, for pure effect.

“Stay still, kid. Wouldn’t want any blood on these nice, shiny claws.” And with a flick of his wrist, a small slit in the crotch of her lycra workout pants made all things possible. Marie’s heart began to pound and her nerves screamed – too dangerous, too much, too open, too vulnerable, too much. But something else inside of her was screaming louder. Screaming for him.

It was that part of her that sat up to watch as he spread her legs wide and ran the tip of his cock up and down, up and down over her swollen labia. Up and down, up and down, until she was panting with greed. Up. Down. Up … she locked her ankles behind his hips and yanked, pulling him into her. Inside of her.

This. This feeling. The chill of the white cushions under her ass; the heat of Logan between her splayed knees. His chest, rising under her hands, and breath, delicious in her face. His cock, stretching her in places that she hadn’t known existed. Inside of her. The knowledge of it blasted out every other sensation. And then he began to move.

“Slowly”. He grunted out the word with such concentration, Marie knew she wasn’t meant to hear it. It was a chant to chain his slipping control. “Gently. Slowly. Gently. Slowly.”

“Logan! No! Please. I need more … “ her voice broke, and rather than beg, she bucked her hips in demand. Suddenly, his scent changed, a darker, earthier edge creeping in as he battled for control. She could smell the wildness rising as his hips nudged forwards to drive him deeper, and then deeper again. Still gentle, but his teeth were bared, and that vein on his arm – she had to bite him there. Now. Bare lips made it impossible, but a hard pinch from her fingers made his eyes snap open and he saw her soul.

“All of you, Logan. I need it all.”

She heard a strangled roar, and felt his hands slide under her ass, slamming her to him. Onto him. Something shattered inside of her – pain, bliss, sorrow, she had no idea - and she simply shattered with it, convulsing around him as he slid her up and down his cock. Sobbing with pleasure, and howling with pain, she threw her head back, and keened. And felt him jerk inside of her, again, and again, and again.

When she floated back to herself, Marie dropped a kiss on his covered chest before pressing even closer to slump over his shoulder. His chuckle reverberated through her, and she would have laughed, too, if she’d been capable.

“Tired, darlin’?”

“Mmm. Good tired, though.”

“Anyone would think you weren’t getting enough sleep,” he teased, as he sat on the massage bed and then settled her into has lap.

“I got more sleep last night than I’ve had in months, sugar. Usually I wake up in the night, and find it hard to settle back down.” Desperate and wanting, dreaming about you, she could have added.

“Know what that’s like. We sleep well together.”

Marie held her breath, wondering if he could possibly be going where she thought – prayed – he was going. Didn’t want to say a word for fear of backing him into a corner. “Uh huh.”

“If you wanted …” he coughed, then tried again.

“We could sleep like that every night. Be good for us both.”

“I guess, if we were careful not to let anyone see us, and quiet, nobody would have to know,” Marie said, the thought of it surprisingly repellent.

“Fuck that. I want everyone to know. If they want to throw me out, we hit the road together. I can look after us – four good fights pays for an entire winter up in Canada, and in the summer we can go wherever you want, darlin’. You could finish high school – even go to college, and I’ll be happy to be wherever you need, Marie. Whatever you need.”

Tears. There were tears tracking down her cheeks, and the salt of them served to remind her of all the other times she had cried over this man. Never this, though. She had never been happy like this. She turned her face up to his, and pledged her troth.

“Just you, sugar. You’re everything. All I need.” She paused, remembering the nights of frustration and the tears she had shed wanting him, but unable to bridge the gap between them. “I think that’s what it was, Logan. The wanting time. It was my body, or maybe my psyche, telling me it needed you. More than it needed anything else – not being an X-man, not being Rogue, not being a student, or a teenager … those things were good, and important, but … they’re not you. They’re not us.”

The feeling grew in her bones. This was it. Truth. She chased the thought to its ultimate conclusion.

“We’re only us when we’re together. True to ourselves, the people we need to be. The X-men, they mean well, but they were trying to turn us into something else, and something inside of me knew that. And decided to do something about it,” she said wonderingly.

He considered the idea, and shrugged. “Maybe. The geeks will never get it, that’s for sure. They had me convinced that I was wrong to want you. Stupid. Perverted.”

“Not stupid, sugar. Smarter. It’s what it means to be a feral – your instincts are older and smarter than humans, or any other mutant … they are ancient. Based purely in the senses. You can’t hide from them, or deceive them, or ignore them too long. You know the truth, even if you can’t see why. You just have to learn to trust it.” And yourself, she thought. Trust yourself, Logan.

He shifted her from his lap, and for a moment, she thought he was running. Again. But then he turned to her, and held out his hand.

“Well, kid, right now my instincts are telling me I need some more sleep. In a big, wide bed, with a warm, curvy girl next to me. And after we’ve slept a bit, we’re gonna fuck like bunnies until everyone in the Mansion knows just who the Wolverine’s got in his bed, and just how much she’s enjoying it.”

Marie smiled. “Sounds like a plan, sugar.”

*

They left the gym together, his arm wrapped firmly around her shoulder, and her hip bumping his. They made no attempt to wash, or hide the marks on her delicate skin, or their slumberous, satisfied smiles. They climbed the stairs together, entered his room together, and sunk gratefully into Logan’s double bed. Together.

Minutes from oblivion, Marie pushed her stocking-clad foot under his, not wanting to relinquish her connection to him, even in sleep. Logan did the same, wrapping his hand over her hip and pulling her closer. Neither were aware of the hole that let the bare skin of her big toe push through to embrace his, and the happy buzz of her skin as a result.

Locked in the sweetest of dreams, they slept on. And her skin, sated, fed them thoughts of love, and comfort, and unity. The wanting time had burned all else away, leaving only truths to be told in all five senses.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for playing in my sandbox. Was it fun?


End file.
